Judas kiss & Don't Think I'll Risk Another
by Synonym
Summary: Because it's not being oblivious - it's just good acting. Two drabbles. Multiple x Gokudera


* * *

**when you don't get betrayed by that old Judas kiss**

* * *

Tsuna condemned them both to babysitting.

"Talk it out," he told Yamamoto quietly, hands busily washing dishes, on cautious tiptoes to watch for his daughter, being fed a spoonful of dinner by a surly Hibari. He looked painfully brazen in the black-and-white setting, disrupted the domesticity with holstered guns and a constant warning glare; his grace was absent, with no value in those situations of convention. Yamamoto averted his gaze, irked by how alike Hibari was to Gokudera. "You're good at that," his boss continued. He eyed Yamamoto with a tentative sympathy, unused to being the one with reassuringly firm hands on the others shoulders and shooting devil-may-care smiles. And Yamamoto never disobeyed an order.

-

Idly perched on a swing next to his fellow guardian and, by now, long time rival, Yamamoto can't help but feel entirely too old – he remembers Saturday's, babysitting Lambo and I-Pin and Fuuta, remembers sticky baseball jerseys clinging to his chest on the pitch, remembers when he had the time to do nothing at all. Hibari in any proximity has a tendency to wear him out, after months of living at each others throats and reluctant, heavy days when Tsuna forced a truce.

Tsuna's daughter dawdles on the patch of grass a fence away from them, hunched over a streak of daisies.

Hesitantly opening his mouth, Yamamoto asserts himself to smalltalk, when instantly – "I have no intentions of talking about it with you," Hibari mutters briskly, staring straight ahead, making Yamamoto think maybe he wasn't speaking to him at first. Yamamoto hums softly, shoes scratching on rough black panes beneath him.

"I didn't either," he replies truthfully. He only sways in his swing, with learned knowledge never to take an eye from the boss, the boss' wife, the boss' mother, father, daughter – or right-hand man who couldn't take care of himself. Gokudera: on a business trip to the Varia, ready to piss and moan at anyone who'll listen when he comes home.

It's strange to picture Hibari in a relationship in the first place, Yamamoto thinks. It's strange to think he'd exchange bouquet's of flowers, boxes of chocolates, kisses and embraces, because he wouldn't, and that isn't at all what Gokudera would want. All Gokudera needs in a relationship is some semblance of stability, reliance – perfect for the Cloud guardian.

Yamamoto frowns to himself, wary of the youth in front of him, of Hibari and his plain disinterest.

She tip-toes over to them, curls strewn unarranged across her face. In small hands, she holds conjoined flowers, purple and blue and unmarred in the summer skylight. She breaks them apart, and hands a flower to Hibari; a flower to Yamamoto. Her lips move in small mutters as she passes them out, in her fathers own nervous habit, before she steps back, skitters away again. Yamamoto slips his own into his shirt pocket. He catches Hibari staring intently at his own out of the corner of his eye, hand clasped around it firmly.

With a hollow gaze, Hibari looks at him again, straight in the eyes, sharp and seamless. "We aren't going to talk about it," he says gruffly.

-

(Yamamoto saw them once, in college days – sent out together in the first wave of battle, working in synchronized concord. The flush in Gokudera's cheeks and the hitch in his breath were bursting with some majestic brutality, eyes bright and alarmed and _alive _when he'd send a weakened enemy Hibari's way, with no worrying pause for outcome. It had already been sat at their feet in blood, unconscious identities. Unsurprisingly, Yamamoto had been called and told his assistance was unnecessary by the time he'd arrived. It was almost frightening to see them both, carelessly littering the floor in broken bones. But that hadn't been what worried Yamamoto the most.)

-

Gokudera strides back into the base one morning, promptly setting his suitcase into his room and re-dressing from his suit in a baggy shirt and jeans. It's been a good summer in Italy, from the tan freckles dotting Gokudera's face, and the pinkish, burnt skin of his shoulder-blade when his shirt slopes down too low. He limps into the kitchen, already with a list of people asking for coffee, tea, orange juice, water and milk replaying through his head, cursing Squallo every unmatched step and ache in his thigh. "Fucking shark," he hisses when he passes Hibari his tea. The Cloud guardian gives him an amused smirk. Gokudera scowls. "Fucking skylark."

Yamamoto takes his milk from him with a smile, asks how the trip was. "Don't," is all Gokudera hisses, before he sits himself between them, brushing hips against pocketed flowers, memorabilia of better days. Gokudera's been feigning ignorance ever since he caught both of them, bruising over, in a feral grip, both holding dented hilts and handles in teenage follies. All he says is "pass the remote", and Hibari grabs it the split second before Yamamoto does.

* * *

**Don't Think I'll Risk Another**

* * *

There's always an excuse. Gokudera frequents his clinic, broken and sore, demands treatment and attention. It's deliberate, and they both know it. Injury is the only sure-fire way to glimpse the doctor now, that's why all the bruises and burns – they don't ache as much as they should.

Shamal ignores it, mostly out of principal. He ignores that there are sutured gashes on his back, that he never touched and Gokudera could never reach. He ignores every mark on Gokudera's neck and glances his way, purely because it's what he doesn't want to believe. The boy he practically raised turns into some looming, scary _man_; he won't ever know how to take care of himself, and it worries the doctor.

He catches him in the act of stitching Yamamoto's chin one day. "Stay still, idiot," he'd heard Gokudera breathing softly. Yamamoto had leaned closer, grinned. His arms had wrapped around Gokudera's waist, and Shamal had never witnessed his pissy little disciple so content.

That's why he takes to saying, "Do it yourself." Spite, maybe. Not jealousy, nothing like that.

Gokudera finds reason after reason to visit him, fumes easier, storms out quicker. One day, Shamal has a flash of Gokudera never returning and dust thickening over his countertops and coat, with a clinic silent around him, a flicker of light disfiguring his shadow, lonesome on the linoleum floor. It's eery and frightening. So he decides – one more hand can't do any trouble.

Gokudera's making for the door when Shamal reaches out abruptly, in sudden remembrance of this resolution, and brushes back his hair, the silver curling at his cheeks. Gokudera pauses, cheeks flushed. His hands reach instinctively for the doctor's white coat. Shamal pauses, momentarily befuddled by green, green eyes. He tells Gokudera quietly, hoarsely, "you look nice today."

And he's never felt more content.

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**FACT: **Everything I write is on my laptop under a file named 'jngj.' Which is why uploading is always a bitch.

**Disclaimer: **Previous disclaimers will uphold the fact I'm not secretly Amano Akira, and don't own KHR. Because then all that shit above you? Would so be canon.

**Notes: **This was posted because my account is so sadly dead. It's been bothering me for a while. I write, seriously, I write all the goddamn time. I just post nothing because everything looks totally and unbelievably crap. Proof? DID YOU READ THE DRABBLES?

Moving on – the cheesy omg life is so awesome fic's _so_ aren't behind me. These are emo as crap, I know. They were fun to write, but not nearly as fun as the ridiculously WHEE fics were. Just in case anybody was thinking that. Also, no, I'll never stop ripping off songs for my titles.

AND HAHAHA I FEEL SO BAD FOR WHORING GOKUDERA OUT ALL THE TIME, HE SHOULD LITERALLY HAVE NO ASS LEFT TO POUND, LOL.

If you bothered with the drabbles, thanks a lot. Feedback is appreciated because I think the characters don't have one IC bone in their bodies. Sorry again, since the AN is actually longer than the fic part.


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